


muscle memory

by hellsreluctantheir



Series: touch [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Season/Series 07, Season/Series 09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29484630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellsreluctantheir/pseuds/hellsreluctantheir
Summary: Sam lost his soul, slept with an angel, got his soul back, lost his memory, and then lost his mind before they could have a conversation about it.It's fine. The Hell trauma is gone, and he's coping. Even when Castiel comes back, he'll continue to cope.
Relationships: Castiel/Sam Winchester
Series: touch [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2163927
Comments: 14
Kudos: 56





	muscle memory

**Author's Note:**

> A happy ending, at long last.

Sam was thrown into lucidity so hard it felt like he hit a concrete wall. Like the pillow someone had been holding tight over his face had been torn away. Like he'd been underwater and surfaced so fast his brain burst. He inhaled fully for what felt like the first time in months.

His throat was raw. Always was. One of the first things Sam had learned in the cage - no matter what the movies said, there was nothing as useless as forcing yourself to stay quiet during torture. All that energy wasted, for what? If someone wanted to gut you slowly they weren’t going to stop because they were impressed by your self control. They start cutting and you yell, and you swear, and you scream, because even the slimmest distraction from the pain was something. He could smell burning hair and for a brief moment he wondered if he was having a stroke - the smell of something burning was a symptom, right? Maybe his brain had got so fried it couldn’t even power up the hallucinations anymore, maybe this was his last hurrah. A final glimpse of reality before it was all gone forever.

Dean’s voice said, “Sam?” in that way it did when Dean knew Sam was hurt but was still trying to figure out how bad. Like the name was ripped out of his chest without permission.

He opened his eyes, he- he was covered in a flop sweat, trembling like he’d run a marathon, he was _exhausted_ , but he could think. Lucifer wasn’t sitting on his bed anymore, Cas was, and Cas was shrinking away from him, whites of his eyes showing all the way around, mouth lax. Sam knew the expression. Knew that choking terror.

“Cas?”

He reached out, and Cas stumbled up and away, backing into the wall hard and fast. Dean moved forward to meet him instead, hand gripping Sam’s shoulder. Tight enough to bruise. Grounding.

“Hey, hey, Sam, you okay?” He wasn’t looking at Cas at all, eyes only on Sam.

“Yeah- yeah I think-“ He shook his head, like it needed clearing. “What happened?”

He was pulled, roughly, into tight hug. "I'll- I'll tell you everything, Sammy, just. Welcome back."

Sam looked over Dean's shoulder at Cas, pressed to the wall, eyes unfocused, face white.

'Everything' was more like cliff notes. Emmanuel the faith healer, Meg, demons all over the hospital. The resigned explanation that the wall was not just cracked but razed past its foundations; nothing left, not even steady ground to build on. Dean said it like he was worried he'd scare Sam, but an external look at the psychosis was less frightening than living it had been. Clarity still felt like a tightrope. Not that he did not trust what Cas had done to him, but it had been so long since he felt like his head was his own that any movement felt seconds from having him slip-sliding back down into the deep.

Dean took care of getting him discharged and Cas admitted, and Sam sat in the room. As far as he knew that he had not been in any position to answer questions, he wished Cas had asked first.

Because then he wouldn't have to see him like this. The fear had disappeared somewhere, in the hours since Sam had woken up. Now Cas just sat where they'd placed him on the bed, face blank. Sam tried to talk, a few times. The silence was unnerving.

Meg would not ever be his first choice to watch over anyone, but she was their only option.

A pulsing ache settled into his skull like someone sliding slowly into a hot bath. Like when the wall had first cracked - when Cas had pulled it down. Sheer necessity had him pushing through - he'd fractured and then inexpertly glued himself together to try and save his family. That slapdash repair had carried him through months, too scared to mention hell in case it brought it all flooding up underneath him. The scar on his palm helped ground him, but it had always been a temporary measure, and so he'd avoided poking the bear too hard. Now so much of it was just... there.

He remembered pushing past barriers with Castiel, taking his hand carefully, rubbing circles with his thumbs and watching his pupils go blown.

But he hadn't done it.

Not really.

Now Cas was semi-comatose, and he'd done it to save Sam, and all Sam could remember was the instant flinch when he'd reached out. He'd say who knew what Cas was seeing but, well. He did.

No goodbyes, then. He scrubbed at his face with hand soap in the bathroom at a gas station on the way out of town and stared at himself in the mirror, like that could unsnarl the knot in the centre of his chest.

Despite heavy hinting from Dean, he didn't fall asleep until hours later. Facedown on the motel bed with his boots still on. In his dreams he was in two places at once. Stretched, small, soundlessly gasping. In one place he was frozen solid, held in claws that dug in so hard his skin cracked. Hot blood boiling out over iced-over skin. Too frozen to shiver, but burning inside. In the other he was cradled carefully, a lattice-work of light surrounding him. In the other place he was moving- no, being moved, so gently that his broken bones were not jostled. He was being lifted. He was flying.

The claws dug so deep he shattered and he woke up gasping.

Before the whole thing in Coeur d’Alene that kind of dream would have left him hyperventilating. After the whole thing in Coeur d’Alene Lucifer never would’ve let him get to a point when he was dreaming.

Now it was just a nightmare, and god knows he had enough experience with those.

Dean was snoring softly in the other bed. There was a line of orange from the streetlights shining in a crack in the curtains. Quietly, Sam got up, took his boots off, shucked his jeans and his shirt. In the mirror he peered at his face again. Dark circles still set deep under his eyes. There was something more angular about his face. He’d lost weight with all the lost sleep. He splashed water on his face and went back into the main room.

Habit told him to pull his laptop out, that he wasn’t going to sleep any more that night anyway, might as well try and get some work done. Instead he crawled properly under the covers and fell back under almost as soon as he closed his eyes.

\--

At the very least, Sam thought while he watched Castiel closely inspect a statuette of a deer, he seemed to be coping with a mental break far better than Sam had. When they'd gotten to the hospital, when he'd been standing tall, when he'd greeted Sam by name instead of flinching away... The wash of relief had nearly pulled him out with the tide. Not that Castiel was unscathed, that idea only became more obviously wrong the longer they spoke. And maybe Castiel was the one shouldering the burden, but he seemed remarkably light-hearted about it. Sam was swimming in guilt.

Lost until he'd taken on Sam's pain, indeed.

When they’d first met Sam had been, in all honestly, a little beside himself. It was the only explanation he could offer for trying to get a handshake out of an angel of the lord. Castiel, though, had humoured him. Clasped Sam’s hands between both of his, called him the boy with the demon blood, and obliquely referenced his nights with Ruby like he had no idea it cut to the bone.

He probably didn’t.

They’d never been especially physically affectionate, though Sam had noticed him becoming moreso as his powers had waned. It hadn’t seemed important, not until he’d come back from the dead, and Castiel had moved towards him like he was magnetic North, and Sam had been treated to a full-colour, full-sound flashback of his own tongue down Cas’ throat.

And, sure. He’d nursed a bit of a crush, so it wasn't that the context was a surprise. It was just way, way too detailed to be a fantasy.

He’d already been feeling like his head wasn’t screwed on quite right, off balance, out of step with Dean and Bobby. He’d figured Cas might tell them whatever secret it was they were hiding. He’d been right; it was a doozy.

Honestly, he’d been all set to accept the hug before that.

This Cas though, in white inpatient clothes, he didn’t feel like someone Sam could touch. Like he’d burst into dandelion fluff at the brush of a finger.

"You're thinking very loud," Castiel said. Still guileless and calm.

“Do you remember when I was soulless?” he asked.

The expression that flitted across Castiel’s face was pained, somewhat, but also somehow fond in a way the caught in Sam’s gut. “I do,” was all he said.

“I just-“ Sam started, before stopping and taking a deep breath. “It’s kinda weird remembering that year but. I can’t help but feeling like I took advantage of you, and I wanted to tell you I’m so-“

Castiel laughed quietly. Still loud enough to shock him into silence. “Took advantage?” He shook his head, a soft, sad look on his face. Like he was the one sad for Sam here, like that was the way this conversation should go. “You had your own reasons, but you offered comfort and companionship when I needed both, and I accepted. I wouldn’t have taken you up on the offer if I’d known you were incomplete at the time.” His gaze was direct. Warm. “I’m sorry I didn’t realise. But I'm sorry for putting you through that, not what was done to me. Don’t give me your penitence, Sam Winchester, I have no need of it.”

Sam... Sam maybe would have brought it up again but Castiel was gone before he could work up the courage.

\--

“-re you okay?”

Sam was hollow. Hollowed. There had been something holding him together, but now he was shaking, strapped to a chair, pain lancing through his head, breath running ragged. His vision swam into place, Cas; close, attentive. Scared.

"Cas?"

His voice sounded alien to his own ears.

Cas on one side, Dean on the other, he was dragged up and out. Thoughts moving like treacle, muscles watery and soft, kept upright only by the hands on him. They got away, and Sam slowly came back to himself. Head still aching, but working again. Mostly. Like thinking through cotton wool. The blood drying on his face was itchy, but he didn’t have the energy to try and clean it off. Cas propped him up against a fence on a dock, and ran fingertips gently over his forehead; Sam felt the familiar rush of Grace healing him.

“You feel better?” Cas asked.

He nodded. Not good, but better, sure. “A little, yeah.”

Cas tried a sympathetic smile. He looked too worried for it to really stick. “It’ll take time to fully heal you. We’ll have to do it in stages.”

Sam wondered, if he pitched forward would Cas catch him. If he leaned in, folded himself against Cas’ chest, if he reached out. The only solid thing he could feel was the fencepost against his back. Maybe he just needed a little reassurance. But Cas just looked up to see Dean approaching and stepped back to give them space. Sam wished he hadn’t.

Dean wanted him to be angry.

Of course he did. Dean didn't do long conversations, he did quick and dirty. Yell until you feel better and then move on. Yelling wasn't going to make Sam feel better, and he didn't have it in him for that. Didn't have it in him for Dean admitting he'd done something terrible and refusing to apologise. Fucks sake, he was still leaning into a fence to keep him upright, how did Dean expect him to shout?

Cas didn't approach until Dean had left, and then it was one hand on Sam's back one on his shoulder guiding him to the car, not pushing, just ready if Sam needed them.

He didn't need them, but god he wanted them.

The drive back to the bunker was long and silent. Sam shut his eyes, leaned his head against the window, but he didn't sleep. Just listened to the steady breathing coming from the driver's side.

When they got home all Cas said was, "Sam?" with fingers feather-light on Sam's arm.

When Sam slept he didn't dream.

\--

At first he expected the bunker without Dean to feel empty. It was all cold walls and stone - similar enough to a mausoleum that sometimes silence felt oppressive. And there was a hole, undeniably. But there was also Cas. The first day they didn't speak much. Sam woke up, and made breakfast and ate part of it, and Cas found him to heal some more of the damage. He offered him food, and Cas didn't accept and Sam went the library.

He wasn't up to a case and he knew it, but not looking for one felt useless. And then there was Gadreel.

Day two Castiel settled in beside him in the library after healing him, and studied with him. It was nice, having help wth the most esoteric texts.

Day three Sam woke up early, realised they were nearly out of food, and that he felt steady enough to drive and get groceries. The roads were quiet, and he got back to Cas trying his darnedest to enjoy a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and-

It was nice. That was all.

Maybe Sam had been pushing the boundaries, a little. Lingering closer. Maybe that was why he dipped his finger in the edge of Cas’ sandwich, thought deeper about the taste of a PB & J than he had since grade school. Maybe Castiel wanted Dean to come back, but Sam maybe wanted to kill Gadreel first and for now he had to fill the time.

And, ok, sticking a needle in his neck worked.

Especially if it got all the traces of the fucking angel out.

Even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt. It turned out all the times he'd felt better since the trials had been fake, so it _should_ have hurt. The prick of the needle to a burn, to feeling like his atoms were shaking apart, blood at the back of his throat, spilling out his nose. Cas' concern was nice, but he had to understand Sam needed this. That he'd been ready to make a sacrifice, and not making it had killed him anyway but he was still alive. For what? To let this asshole go free?

The needle slipping out from his neck barely registered with the rest of him feeling on the verge of crumbling, but Cas’ grace searing all the cracks closed certainly did.

"Cas," he gasped. "What the hell was that?"

Cas was putting the syringe in the case. "I've healed your wounds completely," he said, matter-of-fact.

"And the Grace?" Sam asked. Hope was painful - if he had been regressing to where his body was before the possession... He couldn't imagine they had enough.

"Well, whatever Grace was inside you is gone now," Castiel said. "What's left of Gadreel is in here. We'll just have to try the spell with what we have."

"Damn it," Sam said, mostly to himself. Eyes on the case holding the syringe. As useless as it would be, he wanted to smash it. Wanted to pull it from Castiel's hands and dash it against the floor, stamp it into oblivion. Destroy the proof that Sam had an angel riding in him at all. Anger like a flash flood running through him.

"Sam," Castiel said, seeming to recognise it. "I want Gadreel to pay as much as you do. But nothing is worth losing you."

That cut through the anger like ice. Sam's eyes flickered up then down again. He couldn't keep eye contact with that, couldn't-

"I've been made powerless - from my own decisions and others - so many times. I've done terrible things. Under my own control, under orders, when my Grace was stolen- Sam. I know you feel guilty. I know you feel angry." He ducked his head a little, forcing Sam to meet his eyes. "And when I've let myself ride that guilt and anger, I hurt people. Sam, I hurt you."

"Cas," Sam said, shaking his head.

"The old me would have jammed that needle deeper until you died, because the ends always justified the means," Cas continued. "It's easy to get consumed by it, but I won't let you burn yourself up like I did. Your life is worth more than that."

"Yeah," Sam said, hoarse despite himself. "Let's- let's get set up for the spell." He left the room without looking up, pulling his shirt back on as we went.

Nothing to do but sit with it as they set up. Castiel was quiet. Which, Sam didn't know how he'd take it if he kept talking like that. He wasn't wrong. About hurting people. Sam had too. He'd told himself he never would again. Part of him wanted to justify it - it wasn't like he was hurting anyone but himself this time. He was perfectly happy to bleed if it got them to Gadreel, if it meant he could kill him. It wasn't a sacrifice, though. It wasn't that church, with Crowley in chains, and Dean begging him to stay.

He'd been prepared to die to close the gates of hell, prepared to die when trying had worn his body too far down to live.

Gadreel was not worth dying over.

The spell failed.

It wasn't a surprise, but he could see Castiel felt sorry, even if he had been right. That he'd wanted it to work, for Sam's sake, with their subpar ingredients. But by the time it fizzled out Sam had made his peace with it. It was all instinct, drawing Cas in, hooking his chin over his shoulder. Cas didn't tense, exactly, but paused, holding still in Sam's arms.

"Now's the part where you hug back," Sam pointed out.

"Oh," Cas said, finally moving to hug back. "Right, sorry."

Sam grinned despite himself. Breathed in. Forced himself to let go. Couldn't resist patting his cheek before he stepped away. God knew everyone loved their faces being pawed at.

He escaped before he could do anything else stupid.

Time found him sitting in the library, trying to pretend a fucking hug hadn’t made his skin buzz all the places he’d been pressed against Cas. If the spell hadn’t worked, he had to find another way to track down and kill Gadreel, and that was something to focus on that wasn’t… It wasn’t that he’d forgotten, exactly. But of all the memories that had come flooding in when the wall in his head came crashing down, the ones about Cas weren’t the ones that cropped up in nightmares or flashbacks. They weren’t the ones keeping him up at night. At least, not usually. He wouldn’t place any bets on what his brain was going to show him when he next went to bed.

So, he hadn’t thought twice about hugging Cas, just wrapped him up and inhaled and-

Yeah, he remembered a lot.

It had been tempting, more tempting than it should have been, to turn his head, press in harder, and, yeah, Cas had his grace back now so he probably tasted just like Sam remembered and that was something he shouldn’t be thinking about. He shouldn’t have have touched his _face_. The scrape of stubble was still making his palm tingle.

They’d had a nice day, ultimately, even if Sam had spent part of it bloody. He didn’t need to ruin that daydreaming about teasing Cas until he was pushing Sam up against walls.

“Sam?"

Voices in the bunker echoed, which thankfully gave Sam the time to compose himself before Cas actually got to the library. He was carrying a bowl which Sam realised - when it was set in front of him - was full of soup.

“I didn’t think you’d eaten,” he said, by way of explanation, moving back around the table so he could sit opposite Sam.

“Thanks, Cas,” Sam said. “I didn’t think you were much for cooking.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Cas said. “But as well as the PB and J, my adventures at the gas and sip also taught me the mortal art of using a microwave.”

Sam laughed, picking up the spoon. And, honestly, his childhood had ruined a lot of foods for him, but chicken noodle soup out of a can had somehow never stopped being comforting. Moreso, with Cas tugging books closer to him so he could keep researching while Sam ate. And Sam could do this. He could eat dinner around someone he cared deeply for, was deeply attracted to, without making it weird. Gather all his courage together and maybe even make conversation.

Make it through the evening and then tomorrow it wouldn’t feel so raw.

“Is there any point checking on angel radio?” he asked, eventually. “I know Gadreel’s presumably not popular, but they might know something.”

“I’ll keep an ear out,” Cas said. “But I’d imagine he’s laying low.”

“Sure,” Sam said. Cast blindly within his mind for a thread of conversation.

Cast maybe too blindly. Gathered maybe too much courage.

“Hey, can I ask you about something?” And then, when Castiel inclined his head. “After you pulled me out of the pit. When I was running around without a soul.” He paused, for a moment trying to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. Trying to figure out what he was even trying to ask. “I guess I never really knew why- Like, sure sex is clearly fun for angels too, and I was working pretty hard to seduce you, but. You kept coming back, and I don’t know why it was to me.”

Cas stared at him, frowning slightly. “I wasn’t visiting you because I wanted to have sex, Sam, I was having sex because I wanted you.”

Didn’t that just drop the bottom right out of Sams stomach. “Cool. That’s cool. The sex was good though, right?”

He was aiming for light-hearted and he couldn’t have been too far off because Cas cracked a smile. “Yes,” he said, voice pitched low. “The sex was very good.”

And that- that was exactly how far Sam’s gathered courage could take him, so he managed a chuffed laugh and stood to take his empty bowl to the kitchen. Castiel stopped him, standing as well, pulling the bowl from Sam’s hands and putting it back on the table.

“Was there something else you wanted to ask, Sam?”

He was standing close enough that Sam’s brain shorted out. Eye’s flickered down to Cas’ mouth, where it was still partially open. Sam could smell him, feel his body heat, and his traitorous mind was responding by giving him a highlights reel of every time they’d fucked while Sam was soulless. Sam but not-Sam. Memories that weren’t quite memories. And Sam’s skin itched to make more.

“D’you wanna,” he started, trailing off as Cas titled his head, eyes on the point of his jaw and the exposed line of his throat.

“Do I want to what?” Castiel asked.

“Do you want to do it again?” 

“Yes,” said Cas. Simple, like it wasn’t turning Sam’s world inside out. “Do you?”

“Yes,” said Sam. Instant, sure, and just as instant Cas was on him.

Cas was kissing him like Sam was water and he’d been in the desert for years. Insistent, and firm, and focused. He backed Sam against the edge of the table, pinned him there by the hips, hands reaching to frame his face. Tempered himself, like he was forcing himself to slow down, desperation turned to a slow, easy sweep of his tongue into Sam’s mouth. It was all Sam could do to keep up.

One foot slid between Sam’s to knock his legs father apart, enough room to let Cas settle in closer. Teeth lightly bit into his bottom lip. It was a torrent of sensation and Sam was drowning in it, taking in as much as he could, fisting his hands in Cas’ coat and holding on for dear life. Hands slid into his hair, tilting his head back so Cas could properly regard him.

“What do you need, Sam?” he said, grave, and focussed, and hotter than hellfire.

Sam didn’t understand how Cas was so calm; his breath was already ragged, skin too hot. “Cas,” he said, “You- just. You.” He gripped Cas’ face, felt that stubble bite into his palms again. Castiel sighed as he leaned in again, breath hot against Sam’s over-sensitive mouth, sending shivers down his spine.

Desperate, he tugged at Cass coat, pulling until Cas stopped touching him long enough to pull it off, send it crumping to the floor. Just a cotton shirt over hot skin, then, but Castiel had busied himself with Sam’s buttons, mouth shifting to nip at his jaw.

He bumped Sam’s chin with his nose, forcing him to tilt his head back so he could better kiss his neck, dragged Sam’s shirt off his shoulders. Slid his hands beneath Sam’s undershirt - fingers light but it still felt like they were trailing fire across his ribs. Only a moment and then he’d he’d stripped Sam out of the undershirt as well, fixed his mouth to the hollow of Sam’s throat, fingers digging into the muscles of his back.

Sam fought to breath and scrabbled to open the buttons of Cas’ shirt.

Cas let him pull the shirt off, and then rolled his hips, and Sam felt himself unable to stop a stuttering moan falling out of his mouth.

There was a pause as Cas drew back far enough to look at his face, expression curious and pleased. Rolled his hips again, and this time Sam _keened_ , and then Cas dove back in, mouth to the crook of Sam’s neck.

It was too much and not enough - Cas’ skin underneath Sam’s spread palms, mouth biting along his collarbone, the steady, relentless roll of their hips together.

“Cas,” he said, “I need-“ Tugged Castiel’s hair to pull him away from another hickey he was sucking into Sam’s skin, and kissed him briefly before dropping to his knees.

Cas inhaled sharply. His hands hit the wood of the table behind Sam’s head.

Sam leaned in, to where the line of Cas’ dick was showing clear through his slacks. Rubbed his closed mouth along it, felt Cas shudder. He looked up, kept eye contact as he unbuckled Cas’ belt, unzipped his fly, gently pulled his underwear out and down.

Cas looked down at him, an expression on his face that was something approaching awe. One hand shifted from the table to Sam’s face - fingertips across his lips, then his cheekbone, then sliding into his hair.

Sam smiled up at him. At the tug in his hair. At the sight of his bare cock.

He took Cas into his mouth, and Cas sighed out his name like a prayer.

Sam shut his eyes, breathed through his nose, braced his hands on Cas’ hips. Focused on the weight and taste in his mouth. On the uneven breathing coming from above him. Fingernails scraping against his scalp.

Pressed his tongue to the underside of Cas’ cock and felt it twitch in his mouth, heard him moan.

Cas bent double when he came, arm on the table sliding to rest on his elbow as Sam pressed right in and swallowed him down. Pulled off and pressed his face into Cas’ hip, panting against his skin, still holding on tight. The hand in his hair stopped holding and stroked through the strands instead.

He slowed his breathing enough to press a kiss beside the bone of Cas’ hip and that seemed to spark him into action.

Suddenly he was being tugged to his feet and kissed, sharp and heady. Quick work made of his pants and underwear, pushing them down only far enough to where Cas could get a hand on Sam’s cock.

He cried out, tipping his head forward into Cas’ shoulder.

But he wasn’t allowed to stay there, Cas manoeuvred him backwards, pushed him to sit in the chair he’d had been using to research before Sam’s entire world had flipped over, and then knelt in front of him, hand still lazily stroking a rhythm that made Sam gasp.

Cas grinned at him, somehow carefree, and leaned in to press his mouth underneath the head of his dick.

Maybe Sam should’ve been embarrassed; Cas’ name become a chant, a homily, a sob of a prayer tumbling from his mouth with every breath. While Cas’ mouth moved on him, hands splayed on his hip, on his waist.

When he came it was both his hands tangled in Cas’ hair, and his eyes wide open.

After, Castiel climbed up into Sam’s lap, leaned their temples together, and hummed happily.

Sam, overwhelmed, let out a breathless, hysterical giggle. “I think there are more comfortable places to do this.”

“Yes,” Cas said, hopefully. “Like your bed?”

It took some doing to gather up the clothing they’d scattered to take it with them. Then, once they’d gotten to Sam’s room, Cas plucked it all from his hands and dumped it in an unceremonious pile. Very quickly he added the pieces of clothing they’d still been wearing too.

He paused halfway though climbing naked into Sam’s bed. “Is this ok?” he asked, an echo of dull panic on his face.

Sam, fully prepared to take whatever he could get, said, “Yes.”

“Good,” Cas replied, then tugged Sam into bed with him.

It was quiet, for a long time.

At some point Sam looked up from where he'd been pressing his face into Cas' shoulder to see that Cas was watching him, frowning lightly.

This close, implicit permission to touch, he couldn't stop himself reaching to run his thumb up the line between Cas' eyebrows. "Everything ok?"

"Yes," Cas said, which was such an obvious lie Sam only responded by raising his eyebrows. Cas sighed. “I feel like this- the way I propositioned you was presumptuous. I let physical desire get the better of me, and I apologise.”

"It's all good, Cas," Sam said. "I had fun. I'm not asking for anything." He might have been packing some emotions into a suitcase at the back of his head to never open again as they spoke, but he wasn't lying.

"Sam," Cas said, flat and irritated. "You can ask for things."

Sam shrugged, leaning his head back against Cas and closing his eyes. At least he could enjoy the cuddling. "Look, we- like before right? Just. When you're around."

Cas shifted at that, shoving Sam off him just far enough so that they were properly facing each other. "Sam. Look at me." And Sam didn't want to, but he didn't really have another option without making things weird. “The relationship we pursued while you were without your soul - you never seemed interested in a definition, or a conversation. I wanted only to take what was already offered. I didn’t risk asking for more.”

Sam laughed, despite himself. “Yeah, I think soulless-me just wanted to fuck his way across the country with impunity.”

Cas brushed a hand to his chin, making Sam meet his eyes again. “I meant what I said, Sam. I was not visiting you because I wanted to have sex, that was just a bonus. I was visiting because I like you." He paused, seemed to visibly steel himself. The bottom of Sam's stomach was getting steadily lower. "Even the word like would be… understating things.”

“Cas.”

Cas shook his head, cutting him off. “I caused you a great deal of pain when I tried to pull you from the cage. But I knew I couldn’t leave you there. I couldn’t let something I loved so much rot with the Devil.”

Sam swallowed, hard. “Loved?”

“We were commanded to love our Father’s creations, Sam," Cas said, eyes and voice fond. "But you I love by choice, and most of all.”

The words split Sam open, cut right through to the bone. For a long, desperate moment he just stared, meeting that steady, warm gaze as he cycled through shock, then disbelief, then fragile, shining hope. He crashed up into Castiel, another kiss, clumsy enough he knocked their noses together. Not deep, just hard, lips locked while Cas’ hands ran through his hair, stroked down his shoulders, soothed him.

“Yeah, love,” he said, as he broke away, voice cracked and ruined. “Love’s a good word.” Then, because that wasn’t clear enough, not by far, “I love you too.”

Then he was grinning - grinning and blushing, and looking furtively at Cas in a way that felt completely inappropriate for the setting of them tangled together in Sam’s sheets. Like a first flush of attraction, that moment of looking over at someone and catching them looking at you - the rush of butterflies when you realised a daydream had turned into a possibility. Cas smiled back, eyes soft. Reached out to touch Sam’s face, thumb tracing to slot into the divot of a dimple, fingers gently urging him into another kiss.

Sam could remember every previous time they’d fucked. A couple minutes to catch his breath and then on to the next thing. One thirst sated, another still to slake. That was not this. This was afterglow, this was Cas’ hands tracing over his skin like he was trying to memorise it, this was a lazy, meandering conversation interrupted by kisses, this was Sam dozing off with his nose tucked into the the space between Cas’ ear and the point of his jaw. New memories. No more struggling to ignore the instinct to reach out and touch.

When he woke it was to a full bladder, a terrible taste in his mouth, and Castiel’s even, measured breathing. He was not asleep, but his eyes were closed, and he stirred only briefly when Sam slid out of his arms and off the bed. Padded barefoot - bare everything - to the bathroom. Squinted against the lights as he brushed his teeth, used the toilet, washed his hands. Cas’ eyes were cracked when he got back to his bedroom; he moved only enough to welcome Sam back to bed. To settle him back against his side, skin to skin. Sam pressed his lips to the side of Cas’ neck, pressed his body in as close as it could get. Let warmth suffuse him, let the gentle words of Cas’ confession roll around in his head.

I love you by choice, and most of all.

**Author's Note:**

> You can talk to me on [tumblr](http://hellsreluctantheir.tumblr.com).


End file.
